Sympathy For the Devil
by ellariasand
Summary: Trying to escape the looming shadows of her father's sins, Corporal Margaret Caffrey had moved to America. She prefers to keep to herself due to her family's dark past... but Frank Woods is about to change that. At whatever the cost. Woods/OC.
1. Prolouge: September 1967

_So, I've recently finished Black Ops and immediately felt remorse over certain character's demises. Well, you've probably finished it, so there will be spoilers in the chapter to come...if you haven't finished it of course. I hope you enjoy this story, and feel free to leave a review about it~_

_I do not own the Call of Duty Characters, they belong to Treyarch. I only own Margaret and the characters not seen in the games. Enjoy~_

_**Note**: 8/4/2013 Edited for errors and all that lovely business. I'll be going through them one by one. I'll be updating this soon. _

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><p>It was nice really.<p>

Strange but nice.

Sitting in a bar with the soldiers she was stationed with wasn't quite what Corporal Margaret Caffrey had come to expect. Nevertheless, she sat there at the table and drank a quarter of her glass before passing a smile to one of the soldiers beside her.

She actually hadn't planned on sticking around with the boys but somehow they had convinced her to join them. Margaret drummed her fingers along the side of the glass mug, watching with intense curiosity as her companions drank themselves into a green eyes were fixated on the Sergeant that sat at their table.

Frank Woods shared a laugh with a fellow soldier, a collected fella named Alex Mason who hailed from Alaska. Apparently. The woman watched Woods with a mixture of admiration as well as some sort of allure for the man. The corporal didn't know why, but she assumed that it was because of the mood he brought to the table this evening. The handsome sergeant had short dark brown hair accompanied by dark brown stubble that formed his neatly trimmed goatee. He was out of the usual green camouflage attire, and instead was dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt that was covered by a tan vest, adorned with various patches related to his occupation.

"Not to mention that we have an Army chick here too." Margaret became aware of someone referring to her, and so her attention switched to the one of the soldiers sitting to her right. The remark had come from none other than Fred Rosebyrne. "You all know what they say about the Army: they 'Aren't Really Men Yet.'"

A mixture of 'oohs' and chuckles provoked her to give the young private a delicate raise of her eyebrow. Margaret's eyes scanned the expectant faces of the soldiers. Mason looked amused by the sudden situation that was thrown at her; meanwhile, Woods had leaned forward and was resting his chest on his well-toned arms. His blue eyes were shining with a twinkle of something that she couldn't quite make out.

"Well," she began as all eyes were focused on her, "you know what they say about Marines: 'Muscles are required, intelligence non-essential.'"

More whistles and 'oohs' were heard from the party of soldiers. Rosebyrne had even smirked upon Margaret's remark not at all offended by what she had said.

Her attention returned to the sergeant and immediately darted her eyes to look over at Mason.

"Nice comeback Caffrey," Woods began as the commotion died down. "Although that remark is gonna cost ya a hundred push-ups."

Mason winked at her. "Come on Woods it's only fair. She _is_ the only Army soldier here, so she's bound to defend herself."

Margaret's attention became fixated back on her glass, if only to resist staring at Woods with a goofy expression. Unbeknownst to her, he had noticed the way she became quiet again and soon sighed before tapping his knuckles on the wooden table in order to get her attention.

"Caffrey, I'm just horse-shiting you. No need to be so damn serious, lighten' up, have fun."

She looked up and gave a small smirk in order to calm herself. "Sarge, I'm just-"

Woods cut her off by tapping his knuckles again. "Call me Frank, only these dicks call me Sarge." He gestured at the men sitting around him, well aware of the drunken chuckles each man let out.

"Hey Sarge, while we're at it let's say you and I get down and dirty one of these day." Private First Class Pete Fontaine declared, making sure to bat his eyelashes at Woods in a suggestive manner.

"I don't think your wife would appreciate it," Woods remarked while playfully shoving the other man away.

It was hard to not laugh at their antics. Although they were serious and down to business during battle, they would cut loose and enjoy each other's company during the calm moments of war. Frank looked back at Margaret and found her grinning at him.

"Hey Caffrey," she looked over at one of the other privates and found him eying her hair, "is blonde really your natural color?"

Before she had to chance to respond Woods had opened his mouth. "Knock it off, Fitz. You're drunk off your ass."

Margaret had to admit, even though these guys weren't apart of the same branch of military she was in, it was still refreshing to know that they had come to treat her as an equal. That was shocking too considering the fact that she assumed she was living in an era where American women were better off in the kitchen.

She snorted at her sudden belligerent thought and scolded herself for thinking in such a way. There was a movement going on anyways, since not all women were Stepford wives. She then lifted her glass and toke a long, hearty sip.

Woods's smirk turned into an unpleasant frown as he lifted up his own mug. He looked towards the soldiers and noticed that they were laughing their asses off, no doubt too drunk now to accompany him in getting refills. He opted to ask Mason, but when he looked to his left, he found that his chair was empty.

"Mason had to piss." Margaret had hooked her thumb behind her to where the restrooms of Maude's Tavern were located.

"Then I guess you're coming with me to get refills."

The woman lifted her hand to smooth back her dark blonde tresses before giving him a small nod. "Okay."

Margaret and Frank stood up from their seats and began merging their way through the crowded pub. She narrowly avoided tripping over a soldier who had fallen back in his seat and onto the floor. Woods had then stepped around her and bent down to help the guy up. The soldier gave him a grin before moving the chair out of their way.

"That was nice," she murmured as Woods turned back to her.

"Young is a good soldier," he continued to walk towards the bar with her in tow, "but he's a bad drunk."

The pair reached the bar and Woods gestured for the bartender over with a wave of a hand, "Tommy, another two pitchers of beer followed by a pitcher of water."

"You got it, Frank." The bartender replied with a smile before turning away to fill the order.

Margaret leaned forward with her elbows perched upon the wooden counter-top. She was already feeling the effects of the alcohol messing with her system. She was feeling drowsy, and if she didn't know any better she assumed she was already tipsy. The corporal stifled a yawn before her eyes snapped over towards her commanding officer for the time being. Woods gazed back at her with that same look in his eyes from before.

She shook her head before turning away from him. "What?"

"Nothing Sarge," Margaret said with a small smile.

"I'm just trying to get you to be one of us," Woods defended just as Tommy had placed the two pitchers of beer in front of him. "God knows you Army people are always so goddamn serious."

His comment made her look back over at him, aware that their orders had been filled. "We are not."

"Right," Woods muttered while lifting the two pitchers of beer and leaving her to hold the water.

The two remained silent upon arriving back at the table. Margaret placed the pitchers down on the table, well aware that Mason was supporting his head with the palm of his hand. She sat back down while lifting her glass to finish the rest of her beer. Once she was done she poured herself some water, hoping that that would make her feel less tipsy.

Bringing the glass up to her lips she took a large gulp before placing the glass down. A sudden sensation suddenly came about her chest, and before she could stop herself, she let out a belch.

All of the soldiers at her table had turned to give her multiple curious looks, but it was Private Rosebyrne who had acquired a mischievous smirk all of the sudden.

"Nice one, Corporal. Looks like you're one of us now."

Margaret flushed a light shade of red while trying to be discrete about her smile. "It was an accident."

Woods waved off her cover while giving her one of his easy going grins. "Don't sweat it, Caffrey." He picked up his mug and swallowed a gulp of his drink before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. "You're a part of this unit now."

What was odd about what he said was the fact that he sounded dead serious about it.

When Margaret immigrated to America some years ago, she felt left out and alone due to the fact that the country seemed segregated. The area of New York that she had moved to had a district specifically for her nationality; all Irish all around. She avoided talking of her family as much as possible; for fear that remembering that they were still very much alive would break her mentally.

Margaret's hands gripped around her mug tightly, her eyes growing distant as she unintentionally separated herself from the tavern.

_You are a part of this family. You will forever be a part of this family no matter where you run to._

"She's doing it again." Mason muttered to Woods, being cautious to not let the other soldiers find out. "You know for being born and raised in Ireland, Caffrey's done a decent job in disguising her accent."

Woods turned to look at his friend; a mixture of irritation as well as worry was evident in his blue eyes. He wasn't sure whether or not something was psychologically wrong with the Corporal, but he was well observant that this wasn't the first time she had pulled off the sudden distant demeanor.

"She's not disguising it. It's more like she's suppressing it. There's times where she catches herself from saying words with a heavy accent." He spared the woman another glance before looking down at his wristwatch.

"Maybe it's time to take her home now."

Mason nodded, understanding that Woods was a keener observer of people than he ever could be. He slowly got out of his chair and walked over to Margaret. Alex carefully laid a hand on her shoulder which in turn made her flinch from the sudden contact. Her green eyes glanced up at her colleague and immediately caught the hint.

Margaret had then turned her focus back to Woods just as he gave her a reassuring smile. "Mason will take care of you, considering the fact that he's the only sober bastard here." Mason gave a subtle eye roll before stepping back and allowing her to stand up. "If he tries anything, let me know and I'll set him straight."

"Thanks for thinking of me that way, Woods."

Frank chuckled at the remark.

Caffrey elbowed Mason in the chest with a playful smirk before giving Woods a small nod. "Thanks for looking out for me, _Sergeant_."

"I said to call me Frank."

"_Call me Frank_." She repeated while sharing a look of amusement with Mason.

The two bid the soldiers a farewell before heading towards the tavern's exit. Margaret blinked as soon as she passed by a man who had instantly caught her interest. He seemed familiar to her in a way she couldn't quite explain, and the more she tried to remember, the more it just seemed to evade her. The man in question didn't seem to notice the servicewoman, but Mason noticed that she had fallen out of step with his brisk cadence.

Alex found her standing still some ways away from where he was. Her eyebrows were pulled together in deep thought which was not at all a surprise to him considering the fact that she always looked that way. Although this time, it seemed as though something had caught her attention.

"Margaret?" Her eyes darted over to him in one swift movement. "Is something wrong?"

Margaret seemed to come out of her daze just then, and had decided to quickly catch up to Mason in two short strides. He continued to gaze at her with uncertainty even though she was wearing a smile to cover up her usual serious demeanor.

Nevertheless, Margaret put on a facade specifically for Alex. Because knowing him, he would most likely mention this to Woods. "Never better." She watched as he held the door open for in order to leave the alcohol ridden establishment. "Never better."


	2. Chapter 1: January 1968

_Thanks for the feedback so far guys! I'm glad you're enjoying the story. This chapter delves into some of the action as well as explaining exactly what her position as a soldier is. Enjoy and feel free to review_~

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><p><strong>Some months later…<strong>

**Khe Sanh, South Vietnam**

Vietnam.

Miles away from her home which was settled back in the states, and to say she was homesick was an understatement. Margaret applied with the United States Army in order to busy herself for fear that doing nothing would make her age faster. It was probably a very fortunate thing that she just so happened to be a registered nurse and what was probably more fortunate was the fact that they needed more medics out on the field. This would probably explain why they accepted her form.

And so they had shipped her out to Vietnam in order to treat the wounded Marines on the field. That was the hilarious part actually. They shipped Margaret and her fellow Army medics to assist the Marines on the battlefield, since the tough bastards didn't have any in their battalion.

They neglected to inform her, however, that she would be taking orders from a tough as nails sergeant with more experience on the field than she would have in a lifetime. They also neglected to include that a play-by-the-books agent named Jason Hudson would be there oversee the activities.

The only thing Margaret had found that benefited her was the fact that Mason was the only guy she could actually have a decent conversation with. Not to say that Woods, that tough as nails bastard, wasn't pleasant to talk with. In fact, he was quite the character to talk to. Frank had this kind of facade going when around the guys; sure he still acted like a bastard, but at least he gave her the respect she deserved considering the fact that it was Margaret who had tended to his wounds numerous times. Frank was still a great guy, and it was a damn shame that he probably already had a girl waiting at home for him.

A damn shame.

That infamous song, that Margaret had come to love, began playing loudly on the radio that one of the other medics had turned on. It was catchy, and she soon found herself tapping along to the appealing bongos before the singer began dropping the memorable lyrics.

A sudden groan of pain had suddenly pulled her back to the current assignment.

Margaret continued to apply pressure to Private Rosebyrne's leg wound while currently waiting for the other medic to bring the anesthetics. The young private was groaning in agony, and he had good reason too considering the fact that he had taken a bullet from the Viet Cong.

"This fucking hurts so goddamn much," he expressed as his teal eyes watched her switch out the dirty gauze for a cleaner one. "I guess it was worth it though considering we need you here on the field, corporal."

Caffrey had laughed despite it being an inappropriate moment. "Come on now, Byrne. There are far more important soldiers besides me." The medic finally returned with the anesthetics and had then handed it over to her. "Take it easy now. This will sting."

"Just give it to me so I won't have to feel the fucking pain anymore." Byrne rasped out and Margaret followed up with a curt nod before filling the hypodermic needle with the fluid. In less than three seconds it was filled to the correct amount before she stuck the needle in his thigh. Byrne flinched, but relaxed as he felt the medicine begin to take effect.

"Corporal!" she had suddenly turned her head and caught sight of Frank Woods entering the tent followed closely by Agent Hudson.

"I'm a bit busy here Sergeant Woods," she called back while removing the needle. "Can this wait?"

"I'm afraid not." Woods responded while coming to a stop at her side and peering down at Byrne. "What happened to you, buddy?"

Byrne removed his arm from shielding his eyes as he gazed up at Woods. "Bit a bullet for the medics. Some crazy shithead was aiming at them, and before he could kill the corporal, I pushed her out of the way and took the hit."

"One of the other privates took him out before the 'Nam soldier could kill us all." Margaret finished while leaning forward in order to inspect the quarter-sized wound.

"Fine job," Woods congratulated before he turned back to looking at her. "How are you doing today?"

There was something said about Woods that made Caffrey cringe whenever one of the soldiers brought it up. The fact that she was one of the few women on the battlefield, it went without saying that he paid more attention to her. Whenever one of the soldiers would say an inappropriate comment, he was always the first one to quickly make them apologize for it, even if it was for something minor, it didn't matter. Woods was all about respect. It was what made her and the other soldiers respect him as their superior.

Frustration creased her brow as she continued to try and remove the slug from the Private's leg. "Busy, but mostly nervous as shit if the Viet Cong decide to bomb this base."

"You sure are a pessimist," Hudson muttered at her comment.

"I can't really be an optimist in war. It would be like lying to myself."

Woods smirked at her response before smacking Byrne on his chest. "You have _her_ taking care of you." The young soldier grimaced at the sergeant's observation.

"Caffrey," Woods began, using her surname, "you're gonna have to come with us to Hue City."

Silence befell upon everyone in the tent.

No one made a sound save for Margaret since she was busy trying to remove the bullet. There were times where Rosebyrne would inhale deeply, considering the fact that he could feel her using the medical tools to remove the slug, but those deep inhales were followed swiftly by calm exhales. She was putting her training to good use as she was literally racing against time before more wounded men would be brought in.

Woods continued to stare at her while Hudson was left to await her response. It was hard to judge if he was impatient or not, but the corporal could bet big money that he was irked with her lack of a quick response. She continued to work on Rosebyrne, well aware that the atmosphere in the medic tent had acquired heavy tension.

"My leg feels funny."

Margaret snorted. "That's the medicine kicking in."

"Corporal Caffrey," Hudson intervened. "Woods just gave you an order."

"I heard Agent Hudson," she quickly responded. "I just have nothing to say."

"Really?" Woods prompted. "You're not gonna fight me on this?"

"Since when has arguing with you ever resulted in me getting my way?" She had countered while finding the bullet with the medical tweezers. "Besides, who's the superior here?"

The music on the radio drowned out the rest of the noise in the tent. Caffrey was trying to concentrate on removing the bullet even though she could feel Wood's eyes on her the entire time. Hudson made a small noise of annoyance, while Byrne on the other hand, had propped himself up on his elbows and watched her with fascination.

Woods switched his attention onto what she was doing. He leaned over and found that the combat medic was slowly pulling out the slug. "That's fucking disgusting."

"So is shooting some poor sap in his skull and letting his brains and skull fragments land on you." Margaret had replied tight-lipped while placing the bullet on the metallic tray beside Byrne.

"It's 'Nam baby," he remarked while gazing back up at her. "There's no room for being clean around here."

"Sergeant Woods! Mason's up, let's roll out." Hudson announced, and it was then that she had noticed him re-enter the tent. That was peculiar. She didn't know that he had left. It looked like that Hudson guy was one sneaky bastard.

Not less than a minute later Mason casually walked in with a look of fatigue evident on his expression. Margaret glanced up to give him a half-smile in which he returned just as quickly. She then diverted her attention back to Rosebyrne's leg as she proceeded to begin stitching the nasty wound.

"Once you're done with Fred's leg you need to pack up and head out with us, Caffrey." Woods stated just as Mason came to a stop beside the young private and leaned over to peer at his leg as well.

"Got it," she mumbled, not quite too happy about leaving her post in order to follow Woods and his team.

It was dangerous as hell and the thing that was worrying her the most was the fact that she would undoubtedly be the enemy's number one target. It was common sense to both sides that taking out the medics was the key to weakening the enemy. The medics were the support, and without them, the team couldn't do much else. Then again, Caffrey wasn't sporting any attire that would give her position away, save for the extra medical equipment she would be carrying. Oh well, this is what the army had trained her for, even though she had _barely_ managed to pass the grueling tests to become a combat medic.

"What the hell did you do, Byrne?" Mason asked. "Did you trip over barbwire?"

"Screw you Mason," Byrne replied while deciding to lie back down in order to alleviate his lower back from the pressure. "I'm a goddamn hero."

Margaret smirked at the two of them. "Gentlemen-"

A nearby explosion had suddenly shaken the entire compound and had caused her to unwillingly stick the needle deeper than necessary. The young private felt the sudden prick and flinched while withholding a scream. Caffrey remained where she was despite her gut instincts screaming for her to run out of the heat zone.

"THEY'RE ATTACKING!"

Woods, along with Hudson and Mason, immediately switched their guns into their hands. Margaret on the other hand had instantly removed the needle and had begun to pack the necessary medical equipment into her medical pack.

"Move it, Caffrey!" Woods shouted just before grabbing her arm and dragging her along with him.

A short cry caught her attention and so she turned around and caught sight of Mason and Hudson helping the injured solider to his feet.

Margaret was rushed out as they all scurried to get to the trenches and out of the way of the heat zone. It was during this time that she had suddenly realized that her standard gun was left in the tent along with her helmet. Looking back over now, she was just in time to see the tent go up in flames as another grenade had dropped on the compound.

"Woods!" She narrowly avoided tripping over a fallen solider while remaining cautious of her surroundings. "I left my pistol back at the tent!"

The sergeant looked back at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding me?!" Woods had then pushed Caffrey to the side before taking out his pistol. He aimed it at one of the adversaries before pulling the trigger.

Another bomb dropped dangerously close to where they both were running. Byrne had cried out in pain due to the reverberation and fell down to his knees because of it. Mason and Hudson almost lost their footing, but they had managed to pull the injured man back up. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep up with the run. It had physically placed a demand on his body that he hadn't expected at all. Byrne fell down on the rough dirt pathway once again and regretted that Mason had to drag him the entire time due to the anesthetics still coursing through his leg.

"I can't go anymore Mason," Rosebyrne said with remorse. "You'll get killed if you drag me along."

"Come on, Byrne, just stay with me." Mason argued while keeping an eye out for anymore of the enemy soldiers.

"Rosebyrne! On your feet soldier! Let's move!" Woods encouraged while moving to assist him.

Margaret had immediately devoted her attention back to Rosebyrne and began jogging towards him. Mason and Hudson had pushed her and Woods out of the way just as another bomb dropped, the fiery result ended up swallowing Fred Rosebyrne whole and killing him instantly.

"No!" She screeched but Mason had her on her feet and forced her to follow both Woods and Hudson as the two neared the trenches. He shoved his pistol into the palm of Margaret's hand as he brought out his standard issue rifle.

Mason's eyes locked with hers before he pushed Margaret in Wood's direction. "Stay focused Doc. We have to defend Khe Sanh."

Repressing the retort that was waiting to be heard she instead turned and moved forward while making sure to stay behind the three men as they made their way out of the area. Margaret had seen many soldiers bite the bullet, and each time it was still traumatizing. Nevertheless, seeing Rosebyrne get blown up just feet away was going to render her to become an emotional wreck.

She fired at an oncoming squad of troops only barely being able to dispatch two of the five NVAs.

"Caffrey, stay behind me. Don't go any further unless I'm in front of you." Woods reloaded his gun before crouching under to enter the bunker with her right behind him.

"GRENADE!"

This time it was Hudson who had pulled Margaret to the far left of the bunker as soon as the grenade went off. It took three marines with it despite the early warning.

_Wars have reason._

Caffrey gave a small smile to Hudson before looking around the bunker for anything that could be of use. A crate sat against the far west end of the bunker and so she quickly made her way over to it while ducking out of the way to avoid the ricochet of bullets. She holstered the pistol as her hands had then grabbed the M16. She turned and began firing at the enemies that were making their way through the trenches.

The only drawback to the rifle was the recoil that made it slam into her shoulder harder than necessary. It made Margaret flinch during each pull of the trigger, but she kept firing at the enemy soldiers despite knowing she would be acquiring all sorts of bruises.

She shot down three NVAs before following Woods and the other two out of the bunker. "Can you even handle that?"

"I can try!" She had retorted without knowing for sure who it had been that had said it.

It wasn't until she took cover alongside Woods that she noticed the way he had cocked one of his eyebrows. "Mind repeating that?"

She shook her head before readying the rifle. "I can handle the rifle, Sergeant Woods."

Woods's expression turned into one of known secrecy before frowning at the way she had diverted her eyes. "As soon as we're done defending Khe Sanh, we'll see how your aim with that is on the shooting range."

His words weren't harsh. In fact, his tone carried no hint of the one he used with the other soldiers. No, it was pretty much like he was calm as well as jaunty despite the current situation at hand.

Margaret immediately noticed the change in his demeanor despite sporting a fierce scowl as soon as he rounded the corner and opened fire on the bastards. She remained where she was even though Hudson and Mason had followed Woods out of the bunker.

Maybe this had all been one huge mistake.

Margaret thought long and hard on this, but it was probably fate's way of saying that this is where she needed to be. In spite of the fact that she had been hesitant on going anywhere near the battlefield in the first place, she knew full well that the Marines were in desperate need of combat ready medics like herself. They were scarce considering that most of the medics from the Navy and her branch were all out on the front lines with the soldiers. She had been the exception since her superiors wanted her to remain at the medical compound and out of the front lines.

This time, however, she was accompanying Woods and the others on their trek to Hue City. It wasn't the brightest of all moves, especially for her. Hell, she was a woman and here she was following them on the front lines where she was prohibited to be at. It didn't make any sense, but perhaps Woods had a reason in wanting her to accompany them. Then again, he probably had to pull a lot of strings in order to make it happen because as far as she knew the higher ups weren't exactly keen on the idea of allowing the women recruits to fight in battle.

"Caffrey! Get your shit together and get over here!" Woods drew her attention back towards the fight at hand.

Margaret gripped her rifle before lowering her head and running swiftly out of the bunker and towards the other three. When she came to a stop in a crouched position beside Woods, she noticed that his brow was creased with stress just as he continued to shoot at the Vietnamese soldiers coming towards them. The corporal ignored the painful ringing in her ears from the bullets and the explosions happening around her and instead chose to focus on regulating her breathing.

"I'm only gonna tell you this once, Caffrey, so listen up." Hudson and Mason flanked towards his left in order to provide cover. "The next time I see you standing there after I've given you a direct order to stay close, I _will_ make sure you become a paper pusher. Is that understood?"

_How was I supposed to follow with bullets flying everywhere?_

Blurting out an answer like that was sure to see her suspended. Margaret closed her eyes for several seconds before opening them and looking directly at Mason who was shaking his head.

"Caffrey!"

The medic calmly rose to her feet while raising the gun and assuming the position to cover Woods. "Yes, Sergeant Woods."


	3. Chapter 2: Return to Sender

Her black boots hit the red dirt just as she had released a withheld exhale.

Margaret followed Woods and Hudson through the trenches, watching as they dispatched every adversary that had threatened to kill the four of them. Mason was right behind her, making sure to cover the rear while killing the ones that she had missed.

It was probably fortunate for her that she had him right behind her, although not to say she didn't trust Woods or Hudson, it was more that she knew Mason was in the right state of mind to pay attention to his surroundings. Even though he was quick to act without a thought to spare, she knew full well that he was the perfect asset to have on this team.

What she didn't like was the extensive running they were doing, but it was necessary at the moment in order to survive. They were moving so hastily through the narrow trenches that she nearly lost Mason while crossing under the bridge.

One of the bastards had caught him off guard, and had leaped on him from the bridge and tackled the unsuspecting Captain down on his back. Margaret had nearly missed the action, but she stopped and turned in time to see that Mason had pushed the NVA back. It nearly took a minute for her to realize that he had also removed the strap keeping the pins to the soldier's grenades in place. She ducked to the side just as he had detonated.

Mason quickly rose to his feet, brushed off the attack, and carried on as though it was nothing. If it had been her, she would have needed a handful of moments to get over the attempt on her life.

_This is war. You have to get used to assassinations up close and personal._

Reminding herself of this quashed the idea of nearly dying whenever she or the boys were being shot at. Then again, the word assassination always led her back to the death of John F. Kennedy for some inexplicable reason. Margaret wasn't interested in politics, but she watched enough television (as well as reading the local paper) to know that the man was an idol of sorts. In fact, the entire Kennedy clan was to America what the Royal Family was to England. True royalty, and each glimpse of them was a privilege.

Mason quickly made his way over to her while inclining his head towards Hudson and Woods as soon as they took cover behind the corner. More were crossing over from up above, using the ladders to serve as a bridge.

"Mason," Woods called out. "Take them out!"

The Captain did as he was told. He rounded the corner and began firing at the soldiers while making sure to evade the bullets that would soon follow. Margaret remained where she was as she was not at all eager to get caught in the violent shootout that was occurring. Woods had then rushed past her followed by Hudson before she trailed soon after.

She and the sergeant took cover behind the crates, being cautious to avoid getting shot at by the NVA. Margaret wanted to help, but it was best to leave the action to the men, just in case they sustained any injuries. At least she would be around to treat them. Still, her trigger finger was itching for some action. Her nose scrunched up at the sudden realization.

_Huh, I'm starting to act more like a man everyday I'm here._

"Caffrey," she looked up at Hudson and found him shooting upward at the enemies across from them. "Chuck a grenade at them."

"Wait for my signal," Woods said, eyes analyzing the terrain, as if he were making a mental note of the total enemies.

She nodded at the sergeant before grabbing a grenade off of Hudson's belt. She removed the pin in one swift movement just as he gave her the hand signal to toss it.

The three ducked down as soon as the explosion was heard. If it had deafened her hearing, she didn't give any acknowledgement to it. Both men resumed their positions and continued to fire at the enemies.

"Thanks for nearly blowing my head off," Mason muttered just as he rejoined them.

Margaret kept out of sight but had managed to give him a retort. "Saved you from getting shot at, didn't it?"

He withheld his own comment, if only to return fire alongside his colleagues. She sighed and decided to remain where she was until Woods ordered otherwise.

"Caffrey, how about you lend a hand?"

Speak of the devil. She glared up at him, irritated at the fact that not too long ago he told her to keep out of sight. And now, Woods was practically ordering her to take up arms alongside them, dismissing the fact that her specialty was treating the wounded. Not to say that she didn't know her way around a weapon, fact was she did. It was a requirement to be able to handle a variety of handguns and rifles in order to pass the tests, even though she assumed that she wouldn't be able to make use of any of the rifles during actual battle.

Nevertheless, she re-positioned herself so her back remained flat against the crate and then turned around in order to take the shot. While exhaling a breath she managed to take down the NVA soldiers who were about to jump down. She attempted to ignore their cries of agony, but it proved difficult to do that. She was well aware that they were the threat, still the thought of them being humans too hadn't evaded her conscious. With every man she took down, that guilt would build, gradually yet steadily.

Maybe if her father had witnessed this, then he would have thought twice before putting her down and making her feel as though she was inferior to him. The thoughts of her family back in Ireland had suddenly pushed through her mental barriers and made themselves visible. Although they came crashing through, she had managed to follow Mason from their position while still keeping cautious of her surroundings. The more she thought on it the more her father's harsh words of criticism seemed to seep in; further reminding her that she was his daughter, regardless of what occupation she had assumed after living in America for eighteen years.

_"You are a part of this family no matter where you go, in fact, I challenge you to leave. See what the world will do with a woman such as yourself."_

Those were his departing words to her. No warm goodbyes, no sayings of being safe on her travels, nothing. Her mother had stayed quiet beside her husband's side, refusing to meet her own daughter's disheartened gaze. What probably hurt the most was when her younger brother and sister had demanded to know why she was leaving them; of course her father had answered much to her chagrin: _"Margaret does not wish to be associated with us any longer."_

"Caffrey!" She came to a stop beside Mason upon hearing him call her name. "Go ahead of me, I got these guys."

On instinct she ducked down upon hearing the guns fired as well as the missiles from above the trenches. No one can be too careful during battle. "Are you sure, Mason?"

"Of course I am," he reassured her while making her back up some. "Go, I've got your back."

"Alright then."

Missiles had attacked a tank above them which had been settled to their right-hand side. Margaret had ran straight ahead and purposely fell flat on her stomach. She remained still just as the tank toppled over. Luckily for her, the trenches they were currently in were steep and narrow which had forced the large vehicle to become stuck just inches above her.

She didn't stop to catch her breath, instead she began wedging herself from under the tank and towards both Woods and Hudson.

* * *

><p>Frank kept his attention on the oncoming waves of enemy soldiers that seemed to multiply almost every minute.<p>

He was so preoccupied with not getting shot at that he didn't notice how both Caffrey and Mason had fallen behind until after the tank had toppled over. He focused his attention back on them while trying to keep the enemies at bay.

"Move it, Mason! That goes for you too, Caffrey!"

He watched her as she shimmied out from underneath the collapsed tank, no doubt acquiring some new scratches and bruises as she continued along. Woods turned back towards the assault while casually moving down the trench with Hudson by his side.

He hadn't expected this to happen.

If he would have known that the NVA's were going to pull this off then he would have come up with an alternate plan. Instead, this happened. And now he was solely responsible for making sure the four of them made it out safely. Of course Woods didn't have a problem with responsibility, he and responsibility went hand in hand during most of his situations. He often saw it as a challenge, and wherever there was a challenge, he knew how to make the situation come out in his favor.

His team wouldn't lose a member, and he would make damn sure of it.

Hudson seemed like a capable man regardless of his stone-faced expression that he seemed to prefer to have. The dark shades that he had on before made him look as though he was some sort of badass, and because of this, Woods had been weary upon meeting the man. Mason was another story. After remaining close friends with the man since their first meeting at the Agency, he had been the first to notice Mason's tendency to act on his impulse without a second thought. What had been classified as a poor trait was quickly adapted into a positive attribute by Woods. Now, he knew when and how to rein him in. Even though the Agency had frowned upon what Woods had done, they couldn't say that his tactic didn't work.

"Can you fit, Mason?"

And then there was the Corporal.

From what he had gathered from her dossier she was a damn capable combat medic, in spite of barely passing the tests in order to become one. Even Woods had to admit that he had his doubts about her, not because she was a woman, but because she seemed to become distracted way too easily. One line on her file had caught his immediate interest (though the chicken scratch of whoever had written it down had been hard to read) and he remembered that it had stirred a feeling of reluctant uncertainty when it came to her...

"You're acting as though I've put on a few pounds," he heard Mason remark as soon as he had gotten out from underneath the wreckage.

.._.Family is associated with the Soviets._

Woods had at the time concluded that that was the reason why she had immigrated to America in the first place. She was the type of person who didn't speak of her family so openly, and he knew this because he had the prowess to ask her when she was relocated to their base some time ago. Her response had been cut and dry, and he remembered the pained look she had when mentioning them. Nevertheless, she hadn't tried to change the subject when he had brought it up.

"Do we take position here?" Hudson questioned, while slamming another clip into his rifle. His face was no longer hidden behind those shades, they had become lost only moments ago. Now, his expression was visible for Woods to see.

"No, we keep moving down to re-group with the others." Caffrey jogged past him and took cover a few feet away while Hudson had ran down some ways from them. "Give me cover!"

Both Caffrey and Mason had complied just as another swarm of adversaries had stormed towards them. The sergeant had kept his surprise subtle while firing his rifle at the oncoming onslaught. No matter how many they killed, more just seemed to spawn out of nowhere. It was fucking irritating to say the least, but Woods was used to it. It was war after all, a lot of shit didn't seem to make sense. His eyes scanned the field, and from what he could make out, they seemed to be coming from the west.

Woods had suddenly done a double take.

Something else was making their way to the trenches from the west. It was then he realized that it was tanks. Three of them… and something told him that they weren't coming to save his ass or the rest of the Marines. He rose from his crouched position and quickly ushered the other three to keep moving down through the trenches. Along the way Caffrey kept sending a look of confusion towards him, no doubt curious as to why he was forcing them to back off and run instead.

"They're gonna come in the trenches!" She realized, but he kept quiet and shot down the ones who dared to come within their vicinity. "Sergeant!"

"Trust me on this, Caffrey. Just do as I say and don't ask questions."

* * *

><p>She really couldn't argue with him.<p>

Even if the current situation seemed to be tipping in the NVA's favor, she trusted Woods enough to know that he had a plan. There was a reason why he was appointed the leader of their team after all.

"We got armor coming up! Russian T-55's!" He declared towards them and the other Marines scrambling around to get into position.

Agent Hudson led the way up the path and towards the defensive position that sat atop of the hill. Mason looked back at her, and at first she assumed that he was making sure she was still behind him, but upon seeing the way his forehead creased it made her curious enough to turn around herself. She glanced over her shoulder and found that the T-55's were making their way towards the line, along with the NVA troops proudly following along side the Russian tanks.

"This is all new to you, isn't it?" Mason asked as she turned back.

Margaret attempted to give him a retort, but she needed to catch her breath. The last time she had ran this much was back in her hometown of Belfast when she had been eight, but back then she had been playing tag with her father...she suddenly shook her head which had caused her blonde tresses to become stuck to her sweat ridden face.

"Oh yeah." She answered back, forgetting that Mason was still awaiting her answer.

He offered her a hand and she took it. Grateful that he seemed to be the only one that would take the time to patient with her. Hudson, although preoccupied with his targets, was in no doubt going over the reasons why Woods had decided to allow her to accompany them.

He helped her up the hill before releasing her hand just as Woods had pointed towards a weapon sitting upon the crate. "This LAW rocket will burst 'em wide open."

Mason gave her a nod before following Woods's order. He positioned it on his left shoulder and began to aim on one of the T-55's that had already neared the line.

"We're covering Mason, right?" Caffrey questioned as she witnessed the countless NVA troops dropping down into the trenches. She took up arms alongside Hudson and once again shot down as many adversaries as she could.

Hudson unlocked the empty clip and tossed it to the side with more force than necessary, probably more annoyed with the oncoming troops than her question. He had then slammed a fresh clip into his rifle while placing a hand on her shoulder in order to make her fall back behind him. The gesture would have made her annoyed with the agent, if it wasn't for the fact that he seemed to be showing some concern towards her.

_Or, he knows that I'm the one who will be cleaning his wounds up later..._

Another Marine had ran up beside Woods, radio in hand, and a look of fatigue evident upon his young face. She recognized him as Lance Corporal Joaquin Fitzpatrick, or Fitz as he tended to go by.

"Sergeant be advised! Red Rider is flying low!"

"Understood," Woods responded just as Mason had taken out the second tank. "Everybody down!"

An ear piercing aircraft could be heard just flying over them as she and the agent beside her had retreated to where Woods and Mason were at. The explosives were dropped upon the last tank, and at the same time the explosion had wiped out the surrounding troops. The harsh tremors reminded her of the recent earthquake that had shook the medical compound that she had been stationed at. This time, however, the tremors from the explosives were much more violent.

A vengeful war cry was suddenly heard, and before she had the chance to pinpoint where it had come from, a sphere like object flew in the air and landed a couple of feet away from her feet. Not thinking twice she scrambled towards it, scooped it up in her palm, and had quickly chucked the grenade back to its sender.

Ten seconds later, a loud explosion was heard as the copper-colored dirt rained down upon her. Covering her from head to toe.

"Not bad," she glanced to the side and saw Woods offering her a hand. It then that she noticed she had fallen back down. She placed her hand in his and gripped it tightly with as much force as she could muster. "Some of the other privates would've hesitated, and by then it would've been too late." With little effort he had the medic on her feet and by then he had slapped a hand upon her back.

A way of congratulating her for _something_.

Margaret became timid, the sudden feeling reminding her of their very first meeting. "Return to sender, right?"

His usual solemn expression had then changed into one of brief astonishment. She knew without a doubt that he was wondering if that had really come from her. Then again, she _had_ gotten cocky with him not too long ago after he had questioned her ability with the rifle she was carrying.

Woods eased his lips into a smile before he urged her ahead of him, "Hell yeah."

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay, I had a little bit of difficulty writing out this chapter, but only because it is difficult to write about how they're feeling during conflict. I don't wanna take too much away from the battle that the characters are going through, but I do want to delve into their heads in order to see how they feel about everything. Plus, I wanted to wait until my personal beta reader was up for correcting my horrendous mistakes. xD<em>

_Let me know what you think of this chapter! I really am enjoying the feedback so far!  
><em>


	4. Chapter 3: Engage the present

"Hudson."

Margaret stopped short. The flesh wound he had sustained was freshly cut with blood oozing out and soaking his jacket a dark crimson red. She was sure that Woods and Mason hadn't noticed since they were too preoccupied with their part in dispatching the tangos, but she had noticed, and the nurturing part of her was all the more eager to take care of it.

"What is it?" He shot a look her way while reloading his rifle.

"Your wound." She gestured at his bicep.

Hudson followed her hand and peered down at his arm. His light brown eyebrows rose up in realization before his gaze traveled back to meet hers. He had then slammed a fresh clip into his gun with that look of his still locked on hers... almost as if he was challenging her in some way. The blonde woman had then dropped her attention down to his wound even though he had now occupied himself with aiding Woods and Mason.

It appeared he wasn't going to let her near his wound anytime soon. "So?"

She rolled her eyes at his lack of devotion to his health. "Do you know how many diseases you can pick up?"

"Well aware, Caffrey," he had dismissed her, while focusing his aim on the oncoming troops. "It's just a flesh wound."

"Alright."

If he didn't think that his injury was of any serious importance, then who was she to make him? It was definitely risky to not treat it as soon as possible, but Margaret knew that the Agent was focused on the enemies.

He shifted his weight onto his right knee, and from that move alone she could tell that he was going over the consequence of losing his left arm. Setting aside his visible distaste for medical treatment, Hudson had acted upon his better judgement. He stood down from his position and had then gestured for her to quickly treat his wound.

With Woods and Mason covering them, she had enough reassurance to begin tending to his laceration. She began rolling up the sleeve with one hand while the other was fumbling for the antiseptic solution in her pouch. He remained calm despite looking across the field ahead of them, longing to get back in the action.

Her eyes were fixated upon the long laceration that stretched from the back of his arm, and ran along his bicep only to stop short. It was a swift cut, and it had appeared not to faze him in any way. She started dabbing the gauze soaked with the antiseptic onto the cut, while glancing up in time to see that Hudson's jaw had clenched suddenly.

"Maybe I should have waited," she admitted after a few minutes had passed. "You seem pretty eager to get back in the fighting."

He grunted. "Does it need stitches?"

"Yes."

"Then it can wait until we're clear. For now just clean it."

A shrill cry had erupted from ahead of them. They exchanged perplexed glances before he had pulled away from her and began heading towards the source of the scream. Margaret followed after him, barely noticing that Woods and Mason had left the two in the weapons bunker. She avoided the heavy gunfire and ran straight after him.

The pain was evident now.

Margaret could feel it traveling through her nerves as it made its way up her ankle. She hadn't been careful, and therefore had stepped into one of the various small craters in the Vietnam soil. She inhaled a lump sum of air through her nostrils, disregarding the fact that the air was tainted with gunpowder and other such toxins. She came to a stop and had crouched beside Hudson just as he and the other marines around them returned fire. From what she made out, it appeared that Woods and Mason were down below as they made their way towards the barrels.

She took this opportunity to inspect her injury. Her ankle would survive for now since she was certain she hadn't ripped any tendons, but in the meantime she decided to untie her boots and retie them more tightly to prevent it from swelling. God, it wouldn't have happened if she would have paid attention to her damn surroundings.

Becoming easily distracted was her major flaw, a flaw that she couldn't help. It suddenly dawned on her, and made her question the real reason behind Woods's decision to bring her along. It didn't make any sense whatsoever, and she was sure that there were other medics who would've been better.

"You hurt yourself already?" Her eyes came in contact with Woods, who had somehow reappeared at her side.

"It's fine," she murmured while glancing over his shoulder towards the other bunker. "Where did you and Mason go?"

Woods motioned for her to follow him instead of just giving her a blunt response. He rushed the two of them towards the bunker, keeping his body parallel with hers in order to prevent her from becoming the NVA's main target. They reached the bunker just in time for her to see a marine laying flat on his back with another hovering above him. From first glance, it was apparent that the other man was trying to suppress a wound.

"What happened?" She asked, the instincts of a medic kicking in as soon as she reached the marines.

"He was shot by a tango, straight through. The blood hasn't clotted yet."

Margaret reached forward and turned the injured soldier's head slowly towards her. She grimaced upon seeing that it had been Fontaine. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and found that Woods had looked away; distress had been evident on his face. Returning her attention back to the young man, she brought her hands away from his face and re-positioned the other soldier's hands in order to make sure they were compressing the wound.

"Fontaine."

The soldier swallowed as his blue eyes gazed up at the medic. "Yeah?"

"Can you breathe alright?"

"Just fine."

"How about your hands and feet? Can you move them?" His hands, which were laced together on top of his chest, had moved on their own accord. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him cross his ankles.

"Alright, you're doing good, Fontaine." Woods had been prepared to bend down beside her, but upon seeing the look she shot his way, he decided to move towards the entrance of the bunker.

"We're gonna clear the path," he announced as the other marine glanced up at him. "I'll come back for you two as soon as all tangos have been dispatched. Private, you're coming with me."

The soldier, Private Ross from his name-tag, gave Woods a look of uncertainty before shifting his gaze towards her. From that look alone she could tell that he was going to be worrying about his friend, and that made the responsibility fall upon her shoulders if she were to fail.

"I'll take care of Fontaine," Margaret reassured the young Private. She didn't offer a smile because she was preoccupied with trying to shut out her pessimistic thoughts.

Woods turned his attention outside of the bunker, and caught sight of Mason just as he had signaled to him. He furrowed his eyebrows before gesturing at Ross to follow him. "Take care of him, Caffrey."

She gave a curt nod and had already began unpacking her belt. She kept one hand placed firmly on Fontaine's lower abdomen, suppressing the blood flow as her other hand fumbled for the correct supplies to begin treating it. She unscrewed the solution with her teeth, and adjusted herself to look down at him. She caught a glimpse of his face, stained with patches of dirt and dried blood, but what she couldn't get over was the look that he had. It pained her to see it, and she was now more determined than ever to take care of him.

"Fontaine," she murmured. "Keep talking to me, keep conscious."

"I can't," he inhaled sharply through his nose, "it hurts...my body is cold..."

His blood was still flowing, and she made a mental note of it as she gingerly began pouring the solution in small amounts. Recalling the information she had learned, she was able to begin treating the wound. She was glad her training hadn't worn off.

"How about we sing for now? It'll keep you awake and prevent you from going into shock."

Five minutes passed by in silence before he turned his attention towards her.

"You sound like my wife...always finding a reason to want to sing." He paused and slowly exhaled. "I wish Lindsey was here to sing to me now."

A smile played upon her lips. "In the meantime, singing will keep me from being a pessimist."

Fontaine chuckled, however, he began to cough violently. With each forced cough it seemed that more blood began to ooze through her fingers, coating them in its thick warm substance. She suppressed a grimace as she gently lifted his head. He then turned his head to the side and spat out a wad of bloody saliva.

That always indicated that something was wrong.

Carefully laying his head back down, she went back to tending to his wound.

A mixture of emotions began to flurry through her, but the most prominent of them all was guilt. It nerved her to no end, but she allowed herself to calm down and focus on the task that was thrown into her hands.

"We're gonna sing a song that was made specifically for the Army," she lightly teased as her hands peeled back his jacket. "Ready?"

"No friggin' way, Caffrey."

"_He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way, he had a boogie style that no one else could play_..."

"..._He was the top man at his craft...but then his number came up and he was gone with the draft_..."

Margaret mused at his stubbornness. Singing wasn't exactly necessary, they could have very well talked as she worked on him, but the idea of exchanging personal stories made her uncomfortable with telling him of her personal life. And so, she chose to sing the Andrews Sisters with him, hoping that it would take his mind off of his current predicament.

He began coughing again, startling her for a moment as she glanced at him. With the gunshots and explosions happening outside of the bunker she was surprised to have heard him at all. More blood bubbled from his pale lips as it made a trail down the side of his mouth and towards his neck.

The blood still wouldn't clot.

She exhaled through her nose while piling a strip of gauze on top of the other every minute. Her attempts at stopping the blood flow were beginning to become futile.

"..._He's in the army now...a-blowin' reveille...he's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B._.." Fontaine continued the verse, despite pausing between the line in order to swallow down what she presumed to be more blood.

And there it was.

The signs.

His rapid breathing, his blue tinged lips, and his sweaty face.

Fontaine was about to go into shock.

"No, no, no Fontaine," she hastily placed two fingers just below his jaw in order to feel for a pulse. She caught it, and it was pulsating rapidly against her fingers. "Come on. Talk to me!"

She moved her hands from his injury and placed them on top of his torso in order to begin the chest compressions.

"What happened?"

Her green eyes shot towards the doorway of the bunker and caught site of Woods coming in and rushing to the opposite side of where the private laid. His eyes seemed to be on alert, as though he expected something else to happen. As if on cue, Fontaine began convulsing, surprising Woods for a split second before Margaret reached over and placed his hands upon the soldier's critical wound.

"Keep your hands there. Try and repress the blood flow."

"Okay."

She began pressing on his chest, trying to keep his breathing steady as well as trying to keep his heart beating. It became disconcerting when more blood began to pool from the side of his mouth. Nevertheless, Margaret kept calm and continued to press upon his chest. With Woods covering the wound, she hoped that it would be enough to save him in time.

Woods watched her attempts to resuscitate Fontaine.

"Pete, come on. Stay with us."

"Caffrey..."

"Pete," she called to him. "Come on! You need to be awake, we can't have an unconscious sharp-shooter on our hands, keep talking to me!"

The sergeant pulled his hands away from the wound, remorse evident on his features as he continued to watch her preform the compressions.

"Caffrey, he's gone."

"He's just in shock, Sergeant Woods." She reassured him.

A hand enclosed around her wrist, trying to prevent her from preforming her duties as a combat medic. She didn't want to stop trying, yet as she glanced up to look at Woods, she found that his features were contorted into an compunctious look. Slowly, she pulled her hands away from Fontaine's chest, while sharing a look of regret with Woods.

"We managed to clear them out, let's go."

"What about Fontaine?"

His eyes snapped towards the marine in question. "You know we can't take him, Caffrey. The best we can do is take his dog-tags and mail them to his wife, Lindsey."

She nodded in understanding and had then reached over to pull his tags off. With a sorrowful look and regret overwhelming her she used her hand, which was still stained in his blood, and had closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>The next course of events saw Margaret and the others going through battle, well, more so them than her. Woods had instructed her to remain in another weapons bunker they had crossed through, and she happily agreed. She was assisting another medic in treating a wounded marine and she actually recognized the medic as Sergeant Parker from Foxtrot Company back at Fort Dunn.<p>

"You look like hell."

"I'm actually starting to feel it," she responded while continuing to work on the soldier's laceration. "You look worse than I do."

Parker scoffed as his hands were bandaging the bloody hand. "Try stabbing a couple of NVAs while trying to protect a downed Marine and see how hot you look after that."

Two explosions were heard. "I'll keep that in mind."

He chuckled at her response just as she finished her assigned task. She stood to her feet and said her farewells to both men before walking back over towards the exit of the bunker. An uneven trail of smoke flew overhead as the heat-seeking missile buried itself in one of the enemy tanks and detonated upon its impact. She would be hearing plenty of that throughout her lifetime after this war was over. She made her way towards the jeep that Woods and the other two had taken and groaned upon realizing the distance.

Sighing, she jogged towards them.

"Caffrey," Mason greeted as soon as she came to a stop. "Nearly thought that stray missile got the bunker you were held up in."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion upon his statement. "What are _ya_ talking about?"

"What Mason is saying is that he missed one of the tanks," Woods filled in, while making sure to send a look his way. "The missile flew over it and landed just a couple of feet away from the bunker."

"I see."

"It's difficult to direct a missile towards a target, especially if it's a moving target." Mason defended his actions despite finding that Woods had become preoccupied with something else.

Margaret glanced up, along with Mason just as a helicopter had touched down a few feet in front of where they stood. Out jumped an African-American male who appeared younger than she was; quite possibly the youngest out of the four of them. She recognized the face; from the goatee to the shaved head, but his name eluded her memory.

"Bowman." _That was his name._

"You look like hammered shit, Mason." He and Bowman exchanged handshakes, both with smiles on their faces. "It's good to see you, Alex."

The corporal looked on with a tired face just as his brown eyes had snapped to her. "Corporal Caffrey, right?"

"Yes," she greeted with a small smile. "The transfer from Fort Dunn."

Bowman nodded while holding out his hands towards her. "I think we met once, but it was brief. Joseph Bowman. Nice to meet you."

She grasped his hand, and noted how his hand was large compared to hers. "Nice to meet _you_ as well."

"Her _Irish_ is showing," Woods pointed out just as the two had let go. "That's an improvement."

Her eyes flickered from Bowman and over towards her superior in one fluid movement. Had she really not noticed that her accent had slipped? She was beginning to feel embarrassed, if only because the three of them had exchanged looks of secrecy among each other.

Woods's attention had darted back to her. "You shouldn't hide your accent so often Caffrey. It suits you better."

"Living in America for eighteen years will do that to you."

Hudson, who had been standing quietly beside Mason's side, had suddenly stepped forward in order to catch Bowman's attention. "Jason Hudson, CIA. We're here to talk about your encounter with the Russians in Laos-"

Bowman wasn't interested. Instead, he had immediately shook hands with Woods as the two patted each other on the backs and had then proceeded to walk away from the trio.

He sighed in defeat while pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's nice to see the hospitality."

"They do that to everybody, you're not the only one." Mason pointed out.

"If you want, you can tell us what you were about to tell Bowman."

The agent looked over towards her. "Woods briefed you already."

She shrugged in response as she stepped forward and grabbed a hold of his forearm. "It seemed like you really wanted to brief someone. It doesn't matter though, let's get you stitched up."

Margaret swore she saw Hudson grimace in protest, but nevertheless, he followed her as she guided him back towards the bunker. She hoped that she would be able to return to one of the main bases, because she was sure that she never wanted to go back on the front lines again.

Ever.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the delay_, _getting this chapter written out requires a lot of time and effort. I hope my effort shows through this chapter. I did a lot of research, and the title of this chapter will have a significant meaning with two other titles coming up in this story. Not to mention, I already have the end planned out. ;) Not divulging details. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. A review would be lovely and are always appreciated._

_Note: Certain words that Margaret says will be in italic, this will be my poor attempt in showing how her accent will slip from time to time._


	5. Chapter 4: Sob stories

_"I must remind myself a hundred times each day that what I am I owe to the lives of other men, . . . and that I must exert myself in order that I may give in the same manner that I receive_." - **Brigadier General Anna Mae Hays**, **13th Chief of the Army Nurse Corps**. (She had used Albert Einstein's quote as her philosophy of service to her country).

* * *

><p>Sergeant Frank Woods wasn't normally the type of a guy to give a man the cold shoulder upon first meeting, but seeing as how Hudson was with the CIA, he couldn't really help it. The CIA were his employers, true, but it didn't necessarily mean he had to kiss their ass whenever he saw them. He didn't really like them for his own personal reasons.<p>

Save for Mason, of course.

Perhaps dismissing Hudson throughout the day had gone a bit too far. A small frown came about his face, and it was then he decided that he would treat the guy a bit better next time they ran into each other.

He picked up another manila colored folder just as his left hand had tossed the other back down. He grimaced when the table had shifted just as he had placed his arm upon its top. As he turned the front of it towards him he caught sight of the thin white strip just above it reading _Margaret M. Caffrey_ in bold calligraphy. Frank's fingertips drummed along the crease in his forehead as he debated on whether or not to read it for the umpteenth time. Releasing a low grumble of mixed curses, he placed it down in front of him and opened the folder to reveal her dossier.

He remembered reading it for the first time three years ago; a year before she had been stationed to stay with them. The first thing that had caught his immediate attention was her family background. Her father had been some kind of scientist, perhaps not even that. The sources were mixed up, and he couldn't be bothered to go through them all.

"Late night?"

Frank glanced up and was surprised to see that Mason had walked into the room that he had made into a makeshift home away from home.

Alex took a seat opposite from Woods, the un-sturdy table separating them while serving as Woods's makeshift desk. His eyes swept over the countless sheets of paper scattered across the top before he looked back up to see that his friend had just closed a folder and placed it beneath a pile of others.

"Never mind, that's an understatement."

"You're damn right it is," Frank said while pushing some of the sheets of paper aside. "I have to look over all this when I could be sleeping."

"So why don't you?" Alex inquired as he picked up one of the papers. "Paper-pushing isn't in your line of duty."

Woods shrugged as he watched him read the descriptions. "Yeah, but I can't sleep. Haven't been able to for years now."

The younger man allowed the paper to fall from his hand. He pursed his lips in thought before he leaned back in the chair with his hands folded neatly over his torso.

"Why don't you get that checked out?"

"No, I rather go out with the biggest fucking bang ever rather than being cut off over some small condition."

"_Yet_," Mason stressed, "it can be life threatening. What if you fall asleep while leading us through a Viet Cong infested jungle?"

An arch of Frank's eyebrow gave some indication that he was uncomfortable with spilling his guts about a minor condition. "Nice to see where your faith in me lies." His tone had been teasing of course, albeit there was some hint of irritation in his voice as well.

"You know what I mean," Alex clarified.

"I've been fine so far; I manage to get in four hours of sleep before getting up." Woods explained, while resting his face against his knuckle. "Change the topic?"

It might have seemed like a question at first, but Mason was more than sure that Woods wanted the topic of his sleeping disorder to be long forgotten.

"Alright. I was thinking about something the other day." A nod in his direction urged him to continue. "Remember the Kennedy assassination?"

"Who doesn't?" He replied, the day suddenly coming back to him as though it happened yesterday.

"I've been mulling over that before coming to Khe Sanh. It feels as though I had a direct part in that."

"This isn't the time or place to even suggest that you were," Woods had quipped almost immediately, aware that Mason making such claims would attract any kind of attention.

The younger man nodded in agreement. "I know. It's just something that I can't shake off," he sat upright in his seat with his fingers still entwined together in front of him. A smirk claimed his face as he threw a glance in Woods's direction. "Like your insomnia."

A grin broke out upon Woods's face at the flippant remark. "Sometimes, I think you're asking for an ass-whooping." Although the grin had slid off his lips, his tone was still just as lighthearted as Mason's current mood. "If there's one thing I know, it's that you're not that kind of person. That nut-job Oswald acted alone, just like what the higher ups concluded. It had nothing to do with you then, and it has nothing to do with you now."

He didn't know whether or not Alex took his opinion of him to heart. The kid wasn't exactly the type of guy who went around fishing for compliments, and even then he didn't think highly of himself. He never was the same after the incident in Vorkuta. It changed him, and to what degree, Woods didn't know. Even though Mason still had his joking nature intact, it sometimes appeared forced.

"Alright, let's change the subject, _again_," Woods prompted as Alex nodded in agreement. "Thoughts on Caffrey?"

Almost immediately Mason's expression went from solemn to one of curiosity upon the mention of the corporal. "General? Or...personal?"

"Both."

"She's a decent medic. You told me she tried to save that Fontaine kid, right?" Woods nodded. "Yeah, she knows her stuff but she seemed to blank out a couple of times during our fight through the trenches."

"So, I wasn't the only one who noticed that," the sergeant flipped through the countless folders on the table before bringing up her dossier once again, "I haven't got the faintest clue why she does that. All I know is that it's going to end up getting her killed."

"Are you planning to tell her about it?"

"I gave her a warning already. Besides, I get the feeling she'd rather be back at a field hospital then go out on the front lines again." Woods tossed Mason the folder before deciding to tilt back in his chair.

A thoughtful look came across his face as he focused on the current objective. Khe Sanh hadn't been the main goal, but hell, he wasn't about to let those bastards take out the compound. They lost both Rosebyrne and Fontaine among other good soldiers who didn't deserve that kind of shady attack. The more Woods thought about it, the more he compared it to Pearl harbor. He had been a boy then, no more than eleven at the time, and yet he had remembered his father's reaction to it. _Low down shitty dogs. _Those exact words.

Ironic how he remembered his old man's behavior and not his own at times.

Frank was brought back to the present when he heard the folder being tossed back upon the pile of papers. Alex's face remained a blank slate. Frustrating at times, but hell, it was his advantage.

"Her old man sounds like a piece of work."

"A smug bastard seems more appropriate." He rotated in his chair with his lips pursed and his elbow perched upon the arm of the seat. "We all have our sob stories. I'm just trying to figure out if hers is responsible for blanking out at the crucial moments."

Alex nodded in agreement; his attention now fixated on trying to somehow force the table to remain mounted. "I know this may sound crazy, but have you tried asking her about it?" His hands were on either side of the contraption. His face now contorted into a look concentration as he attempted to move it, hoping that that would somehow fix it.

"Not in full detail. She seems like the type to keep to herself. It's frustrating as fuck, but I'm not about to force her to cough up the details."

Alex had seized his current actions in order to look around the area that Woods had claimed as his own. His eyes fell upon a cardboard box perched upon a filing cabinet that had been left there from God knows when. He got up from his seat and proceeded to walk over to it. He managed to tear part of the lid off before folding it in half and walking back towards the troublesome piece of furniture. He bent down on one knee and had placed the piece of cardboard under the shorter leg of it.

Woods had watched this while musing at the fact that Mason was so bothered by something so trivial.

Once he was sure that it would seize from moving around, Alex claimed his seat again with a dull look of content on his face.

"Thanks for fixing the table, it was really bugging the crap out of me."

"Oh, sarcasm. Gotta love it."

Both friends shared a collective laugh. It was refreshing in a way; it eased his mind off of what was going on in the outside world. Sure, it had been something as pointless as this, but Woods wasn't about to be like one of the higher ups. It was moments like these that made him feel as though he didn't have important things to take care of. Albeit, the moment would have to come to an end.

The older man rose up from his seat and walked around the table and headed towards the door. "Enjoy the time off while you can, Mason. Not long from now we're gonna have to endure more shit."

* * *

><p>Margaret's fingers were pulling the needle through the skin as the thread began to piece it back together. Hudson had been absorbed in a dossier for the past half hour, moving only when he had to turn the page. She continued working on his laceration just as he closed the manila-colored folder and had tossed it beside him on the cot.<p>

An audible, frustrated sigh was heard from him as he continued to sit still.

"So," she decided to begin seeing as how an uncomfortable silence befell on them. "Are you going with Woods and Mason to Hue City?"

"No," he replied swiftly.

She nodded while dabbing at the wound with a antiseptic soaked gauze. She had a feeling that Hudson wasn't up for keeping a conversation with her, and that didn't bother her. She continued to work on closing it up, only looking up whenever he shifted beside her. After ten minutes of enduring the cleaning, she had informed him that her work on him was done.

"Just be careful...I suppose."

He nodded before rolling down his sleeve. Without another word Hudson had stood up from the cot and had made his way to the doorway. Margaret began removing the latex gloves while eying the various utensils that would need to be sterilized right away.

"...Thank you, Caffrey."

She looked up in time to see the door close behind him, leaving the Corporal to sit there in surprise at his small token of gratitude. If she recalled correctly, it wasn't that long ago that Hudson had insisted that his laceration was of no serious importance, and that it would heal over time. Alas, however, he had decided to allow her to treat his wound.

A smile was evident as the medic turned back to the tray, now tasked with cleaning up the station.

She was suddenly startled upon hearing the door to the barracks open. When she turned, she almost expected to see Hudson coming back in. Instead, she found Woods walking over to where she sat. His shoulders were squared back as his brisk walk oozed with the usual confidence of that of a renowned soldier.

"Sergeant," she greeted, smile still present upon her lips.

"Caffrey," he took a seat opposite of her before giving her a half-smile. "How's your ankle?"

Margaret had almost forgotten about her own injury, even though it had been a minor one. The blond woman glanced down at her ankle before looking back up at him. "I'm pretty sure it'll be fine, I mean, it might be swollen but I didn't rip any tendons."

Although he had given her foot another glance, Woods had seemed to take her word for it.

"So you can walk on it," more of an assertion than question, it seemed.

"Oh definitely," she agreed, "...But _jumpin_' and _climbin_' over stuff? Gonna-"

"Hurt like hell," he murmured.

It was almost like a game with Woods finishing her sentences. As though he sensed her slight hesitation during her pauses. Did she want to go on? No, not really but it wasn't up to her where she went. If Woods wanted her somewhere, then she would follow and perform her duties without resistance.

Woods had leaned forward with his elbows on top of his thighs. A look of solace was upon his face and it gave her some reassurance. Margaret had seen him drilling a squad before back at base, and it was a sight to see whenever the sergeant would inform a soldier of his mistake. The entire squad would endure the consequences.

Perhaps this was why he was here.

"Do you prefer to go to a field hospital rather than go back on the front lines?"

Margaret had then diverted her attention to cleaning off the tray that had become her station. Of course she would rather go to a hospital, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that perhaps she would be most needed on the front lines with Woods and his team. Although she knew it was dangerous for her to be there, maybe she should just suck it up.

She frowned once she was aware that Woods was still watching her; awaiting her response. "I'll go where I'm told."

"What do you **prefer**?" He asked again with authority coming into his tone.

She seized her movements and turned to look at him. "I believe I would be more useful to a field hospital."

"Alright then," Woods gave her a cordial smile, but his face became serious once more as he held her gaze. "I actually want to ask you something. All I want is the truth; don't worry about me blabbing this to the CIA or your superiors, I just need to know..."

Margaret could already predict what Woods was about to ask. She knew that he would notice sooner or later and she would have to divulge everything to him. Sure, she could lie, or she could just refuse to tell him but what good would that do? None. That's what. The blond woman folded her hands in her lap as she awaited his question.

"...What is it that makes you become distracted? You know that if one of the other higher ups saw that shit they would have your ass for it."

Well, shit. She didn't think anyone else had noticed, save for Woods who had brought it to her attention during their run through of the base. The front of her teeth grazed over her bottom lip as she tried to offer a good explanation. She could tell him her story, divulge her past to the man in front of her, but then again, a lot of soldiers had their own sob stories. What made hers so different from theirs? Some probably had it worse, but the thing was, most of them were men. They usually sucked it up and carried on with their priorities. Margaret wasn't use to doing that. When she was younger, she had been basically treated like a princess by her mother and father for being their first born. In other terms, she had been - Dare she say it? - **spoiled**.

The only reason why her life had suddenly turned upside down was because of her father. She uncovered the things he did, shady things too, and suddenly he had fallen off his pedal-stool. He was no longer the resilient man she had thought he was. Oh, but when her father had found out that she had been snooping around in his office, he had then turned into the wicked man he truly was.

Thus, forcing her to leave Ireland for America. On her own terms of course.

However, that didn't mean she didn't fear him. She knew what he was capable of, and so, she chose to leave her family behind.

Woods had coughed, though it sounded like it had been forced.

"I'm sure you've read my file, Sergeant. Although, some things were left out of it. Everyone has their sob story, mine's no different. Basically, my thoughts just go to my father and family back in Ireland. That, and I tend to analyze and think things over when I'm busy doing something."

"It's not a bad thing," he interjected right after. "Though during battle, it's a stupid thing to do. You could've gotten your ass killed, or even your fellow soldiers." Margaret nodded, guilt beginning to seep in as her green eyes became fixated on her hands. "I'm not trying to make you feel like shit; all I'm saying is that you need to understand the kind of danger around you and to not let yourself get distracted. It will cost lives, Caffrey."

Her eyes glanced up to look him in the face. It was the least she could do; to show him that she understood his point. "I understand, Sergeant. And I'll take full responsibility if it happens again."

"No," he said sternly, "It won't happen again. The next time it does, a nice big stack of paperwork will be waiting for you back at Fort Drum." He had used both his hands to give her a better understanding of how tall the stack would be. The distance between his hands was enough to make her grimace, but once she heard Woods mention Fort Drum, she became all the more eager to not let it happen again.

"Oh, Fort Drum," Margaret muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, I know about Fort Drum. I've even had a few drinks with Colonel Hays too."

Woods couldn't help but allow a small smile to come upon his lips at the memory. He remembered the meeting with Colonel Anna Hays, the 13th Chief of the Nurse Corps. She had paid them a visit in order to see how her officers were holding up. She was just as strict and serious as everyone made her out to be, and she had made sure he and the others knew it. Sure she had been barely appointed the Chief position early last year, but hell, Hays didn't play around. Though once Woods and her got talking, he found that she had interesting stories to tell.

"I don't have a problem with Colonel Hays, she's a remarkable woman," Margaret said as her posture slowly eased into relaxation. "I just don't care much for being put behind a desk with paperwork to do."

"It's really not that bad."

Somehow Margaret found that hard to believe. "You enjoy doing paperwork until your hand cramps, Sergeant Woods?"

"Who doesn't?" Woods countered, and the two shared a collective chuckle.

She noticed that he hadn't said anything after she mentioned her father. Who knows, maybe he already knew that was the case and had just wanted her to admit it. Still, she was glad he didn't bring it up, and instead he had let it slip by without notice. It suited her fine; she wasn't completely ready to tell Woods about her entire back story just yet. She needed a little more time to go over it.

"The boys and I were planning to play a round of poker," he began while giving a casual glance over his shoulder. "Wanna join in?"

"What will we be playing for?"

"'D-1' cans."

She raised her eyebrow at his nonchalant answer. "'D-1' cans?"

Woods nodded, while musing at her visible disbelief. "Yeah, you know, the cans they serve up with the MCI rations."

"No, I know what they are. But...you guys are practically playing for fruit cans. I thought at least you guys would go all in with money." With a small shake of his head he had then stood up before making his way over to the barracks' exit.

Woods released a low, husky chuckle before opening the door with one firm hand on the handle. "Army punks these days."

Great. Why did she feel as though she had insulted the man? She too had had MCI rations, and although they weren't exactly a classy meal, it did the trick in satisfying her hunger.

"I'll still play!"

He turned to look at her over his shoulder; a small smirk turning up the corners of his mouth before he motioned her to follow. "Then let's go."

* * *

><p><em>I feel bad for not getting this chapter out sooner, but alas, here it is. I hope you guys are still enjoying this story. I'm still very much interested in finishing it.<em>

Footnotes:

-Although the quote has her as Brigadier General, Anna Hays didn't actually become the designated rank until June of 1970. And so, her rank before 1970 was that of Colonel.

-MCI rations: Basically, they were meals that came in different cans and these were around before being replaced in 1980. Meat (M cans), bread (B cans), and dessert (D cans). D-1 cans consisted of fruit, as mentioned in the story.


End file.
